


Invitation Accepted

by iskanderthebi



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: AI jokes, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Scissoring, awkward expression of feelings, probably inaccurate treatment of biotics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskanderthebi/pseuds/iskanderthebi
Summary: Shepard tries to let Miranda know that she is offering a bit more than just friendship.
Relationships: Miranda Lawson/Female Shepard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	Invitation Accepted

Shepard loitered in her cabin, peering without interest at her bustling aquarium, and thought of her odds. 

On the one hand, taking the risk could potentially result in a highly enjoyable and memorable event. One she had thought about more than a couple of times before bed, in fact. She would be good at the action involved, she knew she was more than capable and fairly talented in the field, and was confident that the other party would be no less of a savant. Overall, success would bring only very, very good outcomes. 

Yet on the other hand, if the risk backfired, Shepard knew she wouldn’t be killed for the failure, but deeply humiliated and potentially beaten. Her physical life wasn’t on the line, but the after effects could be quite disastrous to deal with, especially with the crew. Failure would bring the greatest shame that side of the galaxy. 

Shepard tapped her finger against the glass and a couple bug eyed fish wiggled their way to her. 

The odds were a fairly equal fifty-fifty, she decided. She had hoped, of course, that it would be tipping near the positive, but while looking at the half translucent fish in front of her, Shepard knew that really was nothing more than that. Hope. 

Dammit, she thought to herself. End of the world situations were easier. 

A crystal-like ping behind her signalled that she had received a message on her private terminal and with a huff Shepard turned to her desk. It was a chain mail from a turian relationship support agency and it made Shepard frustratedly think how on earth she was still getting spam mail in the first place and even more frustratedly at how the stupid thing guessed her issues perfectly.

Straightening her back, Shepard gave another huff and resolutely walked over to her aquarium. 

“Watch my back,” she said sternly to the fish. 

* * *

Miranda Lawson’s cabin was clean, pristine and smelled delightfully of her perfume. The Cerberus operative herself sat behind her desk as usual, her fingers not stopping their fast typing even as she looked up. 

“Hello, Shepard,” she said, smiling. “How can I help you?”

It was the polite, professional smile that she offered when work was the chief topic of discussion. Door shutting behind her, Shepard dismissively waved a hand. 

“Just wanted a talk,” she said. “Not related to our mission.”

“I am all ears, Shepard.”

It was the voice, Shepard decided. It was the damn husky voice that got to her. That and the tantalising fit of her dress. 

“Feels a bit formal, with me standing by the door. Care to let me on your lounge?”

Now the smile turned genuine and with a quick finger Miranda turned off her screen and stood, motioning her head towards the private part of her office. As Shepard followed her, really trying her best not to look at her hips, Miranda brought her arms behind her and stretched. 

“It may be hard to believe,” she said over her shoulder. “But even I get tired of all the paperwork sometimes.”

“Really?” She must do it on purpose, Shepard thought. Miranda finished her stretch by running her fingers through her hair, the motion setting her back at a delicious curve, and looked over at Shepard. 

“Penalty of death if you tell the crew,” she said with a smirk. 

Shepard rolled her eyes, the gesture aimed half at herself as she willed her brain to think of anything except Miranda being bossy in bed. 

They settled on the lounge that overlooked a window and shared a customary but entirely polite drink. 

“So,” said Miranda, placing her glass down and leaning her elbow on the back of the lounge. “How can I help you?”

“I have a more...personal topic to discuss,” Shepard said carefully, also putting her glass away and crossing her legs. 

“As I said, I am all ears, Shepard.” Miranda wasn’t one to show her thoughts on her face, but even Shepard could see the curiosity flicker in her eyes. 

“How do you feel about the crew?”

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “I like some more than others,” she said. “I don’t really understand the intentions of a few but respect the battle capabilities of most. Since you have decided to trust them, I do too.”

“You’re not really friendly with many of them,” said Shepard cautiously, eyes flicking to Miranda’s face. It was not an accusation. 

“I am not here to be friends with them.” The words were kind but said in the final, definite manner that Miranda had about her. “If we are being honest, Shepard, I think more than a couple would like to kill me in my sleep. I am that Cerberus bitch to them. And I won’t blame them. I am not trying to be anything else.”

“Is it because of Cerberus that you don’t form close relationships?” Shepard’s mouth worked faster than her brain and for a brief moment she regretted the question. “Sorry,” she quickly said. “That was a bit direct.”

“I don’t mind.” To Shepard’s surprise, Miranda leaned more comfortably on the lounge and smiled. “One struggles to make any genuine relationships when they’re genetically modified to be the closest thing to human perfection, Shepard. Any attempts at friend-making before seemed to conclude with me being used for my brains or my looks. Or even if it gets passed that, then I have too much background trauma for them to deal with. It gets tiring, and you stop being interested.” She paused. “And, no, the Illusive Man doesn’t particularly condone personal relationships, either.”

“I hope you know that isn’t how you’re perceived here,” said Shepard, feeling vaguely nervous at the words, even if she did tell Miranda several times before. “You’re an asset for more than your abilities. I wouldn’t want you off the team.”

That actually brought out a laugh. “A stark difference to how we talked at the beginning of all this, Shepard,” Miranda chuckled, cupping her cheek in a palm. “I appreciate it, I do, but, and forgive me for this, more than anything I am now curious by what brought this on.”

Me too, thought Shepard to herself. She looked at Miranda, at the relaxed stance of her shoulders, at the legs that were half tucked under her. How could she even form her feelings for her in coherent sentences? 

She cleared her throat. 

“With the stress of the mission,” Shepard tried, feeling oddly like a teenager and not a 34 year old war hero. “With the stress of it, I know those involved seek out connections to help deal with it. Most of the squad seems to have some friendship or support, or even hobby, with all this. I wanted to know how you have been dealing with it.” 

The cupped cheek dimpled into a smile. “I think I am doing alright, Commander,” she said. “I do message Oriana sometimes. No details, of course. But even the idle chatter takes my mind off it.”

She was so beautiful, Shepard thought. Beautiful in a terrifying way. Shepard hadn’t wanted to give herself so completely to anyone in a long time. 

“I didn’t want to think you were isolated in any way,” she said, looked at her dark eyes. “Honestly.”

To Shepard’s surprise, that made Miranda shuffle closer to her on the lounge and an unblemished hand touched her forearm.

“Thank you, Shepard,” said Miranda, looking at where their skin touched. “That is...nice of you.”

Shepard could smell Miranda’s perfume and the light waft of shampoo from her hair. 

“Is there anybody on the ship?” The words didn’t feel from her own body. Shepard was lost in her scent and closeness and the heat from where Miranda’s fingers were still on her skin. “Anybody close to you?”

Miranda looked up at that, and Shepard for a moment thought she might be chastised for being caught staring, but instead a mischievous expression slid over Miranda’s face and she leaned back with a glint in her eye. 

“Fraternisation is forbidden during a mission of this importance, Commander,” Miranda said seriously, although a perfectly arched eyebrow raised itself again. “Or what are you saying?”

A red alarm was blaring inside Shepard’s head. 

“Well,” she said, “just asking if-“

“Asking if I am sexually gratified?” Comedy wasn’t Miranda’s strongest suit, but her voice had a definite edge that Shepard swore must have been humour. 

“Yes,” lamely answered Shepard. She wondered if she could disappear through the floor. 

But Miranda seemed unperturbed and gave Shepard a distinct glance over. 

“I have initiated no relationships on board, Shepard,” said Miranda. “Luckily we live in an age where technology can please any species.”

Miranda said the whole thing very calmly, but Shepard could swear the apples of her cheeks were dusted a pale rose. She was still thinking of what to say, or where to look that didn’t include Miranda, when —

“What about you, Commander?”

Shepard turned to the Cerberus agent, but found Miranda running her fingers through her hair, looking out the window. Stars passed like tiny glitters of light in the stream of black space. Miranda’s hair seemed to shine with them. 

“No.” She thought about it. “But I miss it.”

The small phrase meant a lot. Shepard stood, wishing to fumble with something more than just the fabric of her pants, and began slowly walking around Miranda’s bed. 

“You had a relationship during your hunt for Saren, didn’t you?” Miranda said softly behind her. 

“Don’t you know everything about me?” said Shepard, without the malice she would have added early on in their relationship. She didn’t mind it as much anymore, and turned on the balls of her feet to look back at her. 

Miranda was facing her and though Shepard was now certain of the colour in her face, she did not waver in her gaze. 

“I do,” she said, half apologetically, laying both hands delicately in her lap. “I had to.”

“Yeah.” Shepard stuck her own hands in her pockets. “But then you will know it ended.”

“Yes.”

They stayed in silence for a few moments, the hum of the engines like a familiar heartbeat beneath them. Shepard thought about Saren and about the Collectors and realised just how short the human life span really was. 

“I like you, Miranda,” she said suddenly. “You’re blunt and honest, and I respect that. I respect a person I can relate to.”

Miranda seemed just as surprised at the words as Shepard. She blinked, for once without the clear composure that usually ruled her, and shifted in her spot. 

“But,” she said lightly, “as you have said before, Shepard, we are very different.”

Shepard shrugged. “I did bad things to achieve good. You’ve also done bad things yet poured two years into saving one human from the dead. There must be some good conviction behind it, or you would have allowed me to die.”

“I couldn’t do that.” Miranda was staring at a point somewhere to the side of Shepard’s thighs. 

“And now we are fighting the same fight.”

“Yes. And I still can’t let you die.”

Shepard glanced at her. “Because of Cerberus?” 

Miranda stayed quiet a moment, a faint crease appearing on her forehead. “Not entirely,” she finally admitted. 

With a sigh, Shepard shook her head and looked at Miranda’s hair, at the starlight sheen it had beneath the artificial light. God, she wanted to kiss her. 

“Cerberus and your father may have fucked with you, Miranda,” she said, slowly and genuinely. “But there is a good person at the base of what they tried to make you into. One who fights for good, who loves her sister, who has decided humanity is worth it.”

The space between them seemed to deafen, the noise of the ship and chatter and everything else fading away. 

“And you don’t have to be alone.” Those were the words Shepard had wanted to tell her for more than a few days or missions. She believed them, she offered herself through them. The simple phrase was a hand outstretched and it was Miranda’s choice now whether she took it. 

Or, Shepard thought with a sudden uneasiness, if she even understood what it meant. 

But amidst Shepard’s mental alert, Miranda smiled, stood up and crossed the distance between them in a few steps, bringing back the rush of air and sound. 

“Thank you, Shepard,” she murmured, and placed her hand warmly on the Commander’s shoulder. “That means a lot coming from a friend.”

The fingers gently squeezed and Shepard’s brain blared — _she thinks I’m just being friendly_. And then — _I need to ask EDI’s psychological side how to politely request to be railed until I scream._

Her mouth said, “I should go.”

* * *

Shepard looked through her armour upgrades datapad with interest only barely present with one foot out the door. She couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Miranda, and the dozen better ways she could have phrased herself and the other dozen ways she could have just damned it all and kissed her. Maybe she could have just kissed her plainly once the doors closed, professed her interest after. Or ask her openly if she wanted sex. Technology or no technology, Miranda’s workaholic capabilities wouldn’t exactly help sate any urges. 

Or, and Shepard didn’t particularly dwell on it much, Miranda really was the frigid bitch so many sources and operators said she was. 

With a smile, Shepard bit her bottom lip. No, she decided. With the cut of her dress and the way she walked, she definitely was not disinterested in the finer luxuries of life. 

She had just settled herself more comfortable against the pillows behind her, when there was a rap on her door. 

“Come in,” she called out, not particularly caring that she would be seen in her fatigues lying on her bed. It was probably Garrus anyway to talk about some calibration or other. 

The door opened with a mechanical whir and Miranda stepped in. She quickly raised a hand. 

“Please don’t move, Shepard,” she ordered. “And please don’t interrupt what I have to say.”

A crackle of blue lightning snapped somewhere around Miranda’s feet and Shepard mutely nodded, wondering if this was where she was about to be biotically beaten up. Miranda only had the biotic glow around her when she was really angry or really stressed, and Shepard hadn’t seen the second one yet. 

“I have been thinking about our conversation earlier,” Miranda began, coming down to the bottom step. “I realised that there may have been some double meanings in what you said. No, please, don’t say anything.” She glimmered blue and rolled her fingers into tight fists. “If I don’t say this now and in one go — I won’t again.”

Sliding the datapad away from her, Shepard nodded again. “Alright.” She began thinking of the explanations she could tell Dr Chakwas later. Maybe that she stepped on a mine? 

“We were talking about relationships,” continued Miranda. “Of stress and coping. I thought my sister was all you had meant, but I kept thinking about it, Shepard, and I feel like you were choosing your words carefully. It wasn’t just friendships you meant. You meant more, didn’t you? Romantic, sexual relationships.”

Not wanting to break the promise of silence, Shepard wondered how she could properly answer without tipping off a biotic fireworks show when Miranda spoke again. 

“Because if it was an invitation, Commander, I — I accept.”

Shepard blinked. It all suddenly clicked to her. Miranda wasn’t angry, she was _nervous_. 

With a groan, Shepard leant her head back into her pillows and covered her face with her hand. 

“Commander?”

“Jesus Christ,” came Shepard’s muffled answer. “I thought you were about to flay me.” She released a breath and looked up. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Shepard.” 

She seemed almost timid for once and Shepard wondered, with her work and position, when she last even had a personal dalliance. She was still tense, but her hands had relaxed. 

“No pressure.”

“I know.”

“Then c’mere.”

Sitting up, Shepard outstretched her hand and felt a shiver run down her spine like an electric shock when Miranda slipped her fingers through hers. Tugging her down until Miranda was beside her on the bed, Shepard smiled and cupped her cheek. 

“I guess you’ll have to show me what you like,” she murmured and wished she was somehow romantic enough to turn it all into some fancy thing, but could think of nothing else except leaning close and kissing her. 

Miranda’s lips were soft and supple beneath her mouth, and her smell sent Shepard’s head into a spin. The kiss was fairly chaste, firm on the commander’s end but not overpowering. They parted and came close again, this time Shepard purposefully coaxing at the other’s lips, her thumb rubbing circles at Miranda’s jaw, sliding hotly down to her neck. 

With a delicious noise, Miranda abruptly bit down on Shepard’s bottom lip and pushed her backwards into the bed. Before Shepard could do much about it, Miranda was on top of her, straddling her hips and reaching to undo the front of her dress. 

“And here I pegged you for someone dealing rather well with the ‘no sex’ thing,” breathlessly said Shepard, her hands running up the other’s waist. 

“Leave the character analysis to me, Shepard,” smirked Miranda, pulling the front of her dress open enough to show off the black bra beneath and perfect swell of her breasts. “ _This_ is called being pent up.”

Shepard kissed her with a newfound ferocity, hands running over the new expanse of skin, trying to roll the dress down the shoulders while Miranda’s own fingers tugged her shirt free from her waistband.

“Hold on, hold on,” Shepard suddenly spluttered, pulling away and waving her arm. “EDI, lock the door.”

_“Door locked, Commander.”_

Miranda licked at her earlobe and Shepard groaned. “Good, now turn off.”

_“Yes, Commander. Commencing total ship shut down in three — two —”_

“Wait, wait!” both women cried in unison, starting to untangle themselves from one other when EDI’s voice sounded again. 

“ _That was a joke.”_ And then, “ _Enjoy your evening, Commander.”_ The AI’s holographic image vanished.

“Next time,” said Shepard after a moment, “install me an AI with dry wit instead.”

“Next time?” mirrored Miranda, leaning backwards to further undo the front length of her dress. “I did this while you were still in coma. I may be more expensive next time.”

“God, you’re so smug,” said Shepard, wrapping both arms tightly around Miranda’s middle and pulling her close, kissing the top of her breasts. “It’s hot.”

She ran the flat of her tongue up the soft flesh, eating up the way Miranda’s breath caught in her throat and how her fingers clawed into Shepard’s hair. She kissed the skin again, suckled on it and dragged her teeth, determined to hear that sound over and over. Miranda pressed her closer as Shepard moved to the other breast, showing just as much attention.

Miranda squirmed and Shepard looked up at her with a wet pop of her lips, licking saliva off the corner of her mouth and smirking. 

“Pent up, was it?” she said, eyeing the lovely red colour that was painted across Miranda’s face. “It couldn’t be that you want things slow, could it?”

Reaching to pull her arm out of the sleeve of her dress, Miranda huffed. “You bitch,” she said. 

Sliding her hands under Miranda’s ass, Shepard gave the plump flesh a squeeze and deftly rolled them over. 

“Language,” she purred and kissed her neck. “You know, I could get you in trouble for gross insubordination.”

Shepard felt as fingers slid up her firm stomach, nails scraping over skin as Miranda’s hands nudged her bra. 

“Throw me into the fucking brig, won’t you,” she huffed. “But take off that ugly uniform.”

“Hey, don’t be disrespectful,” said Shepard, eagerly pulling the shirt over her head. “It is a perfectly suitable uniform.”

“It’s ugly,” smirked Miranda, eyes openly looking in appreciation over Shepard’s toned muscles. “It hides all this from me.”

Shepard didn’t get to process that when Miranda’s hands, suddenly crackling with blue, ran up over her stomach and back and onto the muscular swell of her shoulders. The triggered biotics were the most gentle of electric shocks against Shepard’s skin and she sharply sucked in a breath as Miranda dug her fingers into the flesh of her hips, nudging below the pant line. The biotics must have affected Miranda’s own nervous system, for she arched her back beneath Shepard, gasping through swollen lips. 

“Jesus Christ,” said Shepard when the blue glow vanished. “Does it turn you on?”

“You have no idea.”

Shepard kissed her, less violently this time, noticing the thin sheen of sweat over Miranda’s face. They took their time to explore the other’s taste, tongues curling, playfully luring the other in. Miranda suckled on Shepard’s bottom lip, as if in apology where she bit it earlier, a string of saliva connecting them when they parted. 

Shepard licked her lips, slowly, leaning over Miranda with a hand by her head. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she said simply, voice gentle and quiet. 

Miranda gave a little laugh. “Perfect genetics, Shepard.”

“No.” Shepard shook her head. “Not the genetics, just — you.”

“You can thank Cerberus for that.”

“Okay,” huffed Shepard and leaned back, crossing her arms. The action did not feel quite so commandeering as she was still straddling the other, but that was beside the point. “We’re going to have to lay out some ground rules in bed, alright? Rule number one: no mentioning of Cerberus.”

Grinning, Miranda nodded, fingers absentmindedly drawing on Shepard’s thighs. 

“Right, glad that’s understood. Now, for rule two—“

“Yes, Shepard?”

“It may not be ugly, but I need you out of that dress right now.”

Though the biotics easily could have sent Shepard flying across the room if she wanted it, Miranda squirmed under Shepard’s weight, asking for permission. Shepard rolled them over again, now on her back, and pressed a wet kiss on Miranda’s collarbone before letting go. She hurried to unbuckle her own belt, fingers working on automatic as she watched the other woman finally peel off both sleeves and tug the rest of the dress over her curved hips. 

“Why that dress?” asked Shepard, shoving down her fly and swinging her legs over the side of the bed to pull off the fatigues. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It might surprise you to know it is fairly bullet proof and comfortable,” said Miranda, revealing black panties that matched her bra, rolling the folds of her dress over her knees. “And it looks very nice.”

“Yeah, I might have noticed that,” murmured Shepard as she suddenly realised she still had her boots on. Cursing under her breath, she tugged the pants off with a little extra force than needed before leaning down to undo the laces. “Everything about you looks very nice.”

“Really?” said Miranda’s voice behind her ear and Shepard felt as deft fingers unclasped her bra. “Thank you, Shepard.”

Kicking off the left boot, Shepard allowed the bra to slide down her arms and fall to the floor, willing her brain to concentrate on the laces of the second shoe as Miranda’s soft, bare breasts pressed against her back. A warm hand slid from her side and over her ribs, hovering just under the swell of her own, rather less plush, breasts. 

“There are some very nice things about you, Shepard,” Miranda said against her skin, nosing at her hairline. “Some things I can‘t wait to kiss and taste.”

Haphazardly kicking off the stupid, fucking boot, Shepard turned and looked at Miranda, who was sitting on her knees behind her, black hair spilling over her pale shoulders. There was a pale flush across her cheeks, but no embarrassment or shame. She did not try and reach out to Shepard, her own eyes tracing her body. The body Shepard knew she had memorised all inch by inch anyway, but the moment lasted a little longer until Shepard herself broke the silence. 

“You’re fucking radiant,” she said, and she didn’t care that it wasn’t the best thing to come out of her mouth. Miranda smiled at that and Shepard kissed her. 

An equality had finally balanced them. Miranda had known Shepard’s body intimately for far longer without consent, without Shepard knowing or understanding. Now, offering herself willingly, being touched by gentle hands, Miranda brought back the equilibrium. And that was something they would need to talk about, but later. For in the present Shepard’s head was swimming, and the muscles in her stomach were tightening deliciously. 

“Lie down,” she said into Miranda’s mouth. Her hand was curled in the dark hair and she sighed as Miranda’s tongue slowly dragged itself over her bottom lip. 

“I like being on top,” said Miranda, the flat of her palm sliding tantalisingly over Shepard’s breast, avoiding the perky nipples. 

“Don’t make me pull rank.”

That made crackle of blue snap suddenly at Miranda’s fingertips. 

“Oops,” Miranda said, entirely unapologetic.

Kiss lingering, Shepard smirked. “You’re an open book tonight, operative Lawson,” she said, kissed her again and firmly pushed on her shoulders until Miranda gave in and lay on her back. “I’ll remember that for later.”

She didn’t allow Miranda to throw back a witty reply, pressing her wet lips to her neck instead and dragging them to her collarbone. Miranda’s skin was perfect, without a single flaw or scar, and it almost felt wrong when Shepard eyed the red marks she was leaving behind. Then she suckled on the spot between neck and shoulder and Miranda gave such a delicious moan that Shepard quickly forgot to feel bad. 

She kissed the collarbones, licked her way to the underside of her breasts. Dragging the flat of her tongue between the gorgeous breasts, she finally let a hand slide upwards, over the curve of Miranda’s hips, to squeeze the soft mounds. Miranda glowed blue for a second, and then gasped as Shepard’s calloused thumb swiped across her stiff nipple. 

With the tip of her tongue, Shepard flicked the dusty pink nub, hand palming the other. “Like that?”

Miranda gave her look which lost whatever purpose it was supposed to have by the flushed colour of her skin. “I thought we weren’t taking it slow,” she accused, eyes dark with arousal.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves,” said Shepard, and took the nipple in her mouth. 

Miranda’s back arched beneath her, and Shepard locked the broken whimper she made deep into her brain. She swirled her tongue, suckled loudly on the nipple and gently tugged on it with her teeth, releasing it with a loud, wet pop of her lips. The gasp in reply made her squeeze her own thighs. 

No quip ready in her mind, Shepard showed the second nipple the same intent affection, eating up all the sounds that were passing Miranda’s lips. She bit, rather sharply, the fleshy underside of the breast, and was rewarded with a tantalising moan. 

“Shepard,” gasped Miranda. 

Taking the hint, Shepard drew her tongue over each nipple one more time and travelled lower, dragging her nose and teeth against the slim waist, hands sliding down to Miranda’s hips and hooking into her black panties. Shepard felt fingers grip into her hair as she settled herself squarely between Miranda’s legs, gently scraping against her skull. 

But Shepard didn’t take off her panties — yet. Instead she leaned close, laying her hand flat and running the thumb over the black material. She could smell her, but feeling the damp on her finger made her head spin. It’s not every day someone could make Miranda Lawson soak through her panties. 

Pressing her tongue against her wet centre, Miranda’s hands gripped her hair more tightly than they should have. She could taste her, but it wasn’t enough. 

Knocking her head back, so Miranda would let go, she deftly tugged on the panties and pulled them off, pressing her mouth against the revealed skin before the discarded underwear even hit the floor. Gripping at her thighs, Shepard deftly pulled them up and over her broad shoulders and, deciding Miranda clearly did not need more foreplay, buried her face in her wet cunt. 

Miranda cursed something beneath her, biotics rippling through her body so sharply it almost lifted them both off the bed. 

“ _God_ , Shepard.”

Shepard licked into her with a fevor she hadn’t felt yet since her resurrection, her brain no more than a mess of arousal and the instinctual desire to make Miranda cum. Hopefully, more than once. 

She dragged the width of her tongue from her entrance to her clit, lapping up every drop of her. She put her mouth over the pearly clit, swirled her tongue around it, suckled on it until the thighs on either side of her head squeezed. She let go, giving it one last lick, before thrusting her tongue inside her, building up a rhythm. The wetness over her chin made her own pussy scream for attention. 

Miranda was crying out with every thrust of the tongue inside her, Shepard’s strong grip over her thighs the only thing holding her down. Breaking to catch her breath, Shepard snaked her arm to thumb circles around the swollen clit, fingers slick, before reaching over to pinch at Miranda’s nipple. 

Miranda came with Shepard’s tongue inside her, a broken cry lost in the sudden eruption of her biotics, that sent her an inch above the bed sheets. Breath knocked out of her, she fell with a thump, chest heaving.

Pressing a kiss against her inner thigh, Shepard raised herself to her elbows. 

“The biotics take it a bit out of you, huh?” she said, leisurely licking her wet fingers. 

“Yes,” replied Miranda, eyes following the movement. “Everything feels so much more with them.”

Shepard set her fingers into a v and swirled her tongue between them. “Need a break?”

“Fuck, no. Get over here.”

With a devilish grin, Shepard let her wet hand slide up Miranda’s stomach and shifted closer. 

“You know,” she said against Miranda’s ear, “it still turns me on to hear you swear.”

“Really?” Miranda’s hands traced the shape of Shepard’s biceps. “Why is that, I wonder?”

Suckling on her skin, Shepard smiled. “Because you look like such a cute little pen-pusher behind that desk of yours I forget you have the nastiest mouth.”

“Right. Shut up, get those boxers off and get up here already.”

“I thought you wanted to be on top?” asked Shepard, but did not ignore how horny she felt just thinking about it.

“The biotics take it out of me,” reminded Miranda, impatiently kneading her shoulders. “So do you want to get fucked or wait a quarter of an hour?”

Raising her left leg to fling off her underwear and to position herself, Shepard shrugged. “I’m not complaining. Now tell me how you — oh, _fuck_.”

Miranda’s arms gripped her thighs instantly and the tongue on her aching cunt gave her only the fraction of a second to grab onto the bed frame before her whole body felt set ablaze. The mouth on her worked expertly, focusing on the swollen clit, switching between suckling and licking. Shepard was not one to be quiet during sex, and with every rock of her hips into Miranda’s mouth, unabated sounds fell from her lips. Not pretty gasps or cries, but grunts and profanities. She was running out of alien gods to damn when Miranda slapped her ass. 

A streak of biotic electricity skimmed its way up Shepard’s spine. With a loud curse she leaned herself back, one hand in a death grip with the bed frame while the other came low and fisted itself in Miranda’s damp hair. 

She was close. The steady build up of heat in her groin tightened every muscle, set alight every vein and bone. Whatever she was made up of anymore, it still sure knew how to feel an orgasm well. 

Her fingers were too tight in Miranda’s hair but the woman had started to rock her ass into a rhythm with her mouth. She was fucking her, and whatever thoughts of rank or duty evaporated into the musky feeling. 

Shepard came with a rough jerk of her hips, groan forcing itself from deep within her throat, fucking herself against Miranda’s mouth through it until the stars behind her eyes dimmed and she took in a shuddering breath. 

“Holy shit,” she managed vaguely. 

Miranda kissed her sensitive centre and licked her clit once more below letting go of her thighs. With a gasp, knowing there will be bruises there tomorrow, Shepard carefully shifted her weight and collapsed on her back. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” she said. 

“Like that?” whispered Miranda by her ear, voice husky and thick. 

Shepard allowed for her face to be gently turned and tasted herself in their kiss. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Yeah.”

They lay like that for a moment, the smell of sex wavering around the room. Shepard felt sated and electrified all at once, kissing Miranda’s neck and ears, one hand lazily rising over the slope of her ass. It was a very nice moment, interrupted by the bubbling from her aquarium and the little sounds made between their mouths. 

Miranda’s nails trailed their way over the firm muscles of Shepard’s stomach, inching herself down until her mouth was at her clavicle. All tongue and teeth she latched on to an erect nipple, moaning as Shepard’s fingers clawed into her hair. By this point, she was lying completely over the commander, Shepard’s thigh between her legs. Eyes half blind in a haze, Shepard reached over to slap her ass. 

With the sharp sound, Miranda gasped and ground her hips firmly into Shepard’s thigh. The feeling of the wet pussy against her skin almost made Shepard scream. Instead, a low groan came from somewhere within her throat. 

“Thank God the walls are soundproof,” she panted, thumbing Miranda’s pink nipples. “Otherwise we might have a mutiny on our hands.” 

Wiping a bead of sweat off her temple, Miranda smirked. “You think this is loud? I think you’ve been holding out on me, if anything.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

Miranda rolled her hips, knee a hair’s breadth away from Shepard’s own aching cunt.

“Yeah.”

“Then make me.”

She leaned back at that, smug grin on her face, and swatted at Shepard’s hands on her chest. Letting her own hands slide off Shepard’s middle and to her hips, she dragged them upwards, slowly caressing the curve of her waist. Dipping low to run her fingers just above her wet sex, she gave a wink before reaching over cup her tits. With a showy lean, she dug her fingers into the soft flesh, let her nipples peek through as she squeezed them together. Red marks from Shepard’s mouth dotted and connected across her skin like new, never before seen constellations. Wet lips parted, she gave a sigh as she pinched her nipples and then reached over to Shepard’s free leg. 

It took Shepard’s brain a minute to figure the aerobics that were being set up, but her head fell hard into the pillows beneath her as Miranda firmly ground their aching cunts together. 

A cry fell from her lips like she never had released before. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had good sex, quite the opposite, but Miranda’s hot thrusts sent her mind into a frenzy she hadn’t yet felt. 

Miranda was keening with every touch, gripping into Shepard’s leg like a vice. Her wet hair veiled her face and Shepard reached out to fling it behind her neck. The sight of the woman with her mouth open, eyes dark with arousal, tripped up Shepard’s own rhythm and for a moment they both hissed as their hips met too hard. 

Building up her short thrusts, Shepard cupped Miranda’s face, slipping her thumb into her mouth. Miranda took it with a muffled moan, suckling on it until a line of saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth. 

Shepard felt a second orgasm burning in her stomach, too sensitive to resist for long. She took her hand away, pressed it for a moment against Miranda’s throat, taking it down to their touching groins. Her name, her first name, was coming out of the other’s mouth like a mantra as her rough fingers brushed against their clits.

“I’m gonna — I’m —”

Miranda took the hint. Shaking her hair away from her face, she covered Shepard’s hand with her own and as their thrusts against one another grew more frantic, faint blue biotic light flickered at her fingertips. The electric shock was no more than a vibration, but with a particular shift of their hips, set them both over the edge. 

Shepard came with a loud cry, profanities littering the sound as Miranda’s hips jerked against her, until every movement felt electrified even without the need of biotics. The death grip in Shepard’s thigh loosened and Miranda mewled a final time, eyes rolling to the back of her head, hips shuddering against her. 

With the sound of the aquarium, the hum of the ship and their shared panting, Shepard and Miranda both lay on the bed facing the ceiling. Aside from the other surprises learnt that day, Shepard discovered Miranda fit very well in the crook of her shoulder and, most pleasingly, seemed to like the arrangement. 

She idly licked the corner of her mouth. 

“We should have a shower,” she stated. 

Miranda, without moving, gave a disinterested hum.

Raising an eyebrow, Shepard looked down to her side, where Miranda lay with her eyes closed and a hand resting lazily on Shepard’s stomach. 

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” Miranda still didn’t move, although the hand drew a shape over the stomach. 

Shepard grinned. “Operative Lawson, is this me seeing you not jumping to attention at the opportunity of looking decent?”

Even that didn’t make Miranda open her eyes, but she gave the toned stomach a hard whack with the back of her hand. 

“Shepard,” she said. “It’s going to take my thighs at least three days to recover and you won’t even give me a half hour to rest now. If you say one more word, I shall file a formal demand for a court martial.”

“Oh, yeah?” Shepard let her fingers brush teasingly under the curve of Miranda’s breast. “What’s the charge?”

“Bullying.”

Shepard laughed. 

**Author's Note:**

> unappreciated ship! y’all they would raw for days


End file.
